


One Night On Risa

by Medie



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-04
Updated: 2010-02-04
Packaged: 2017-10-07 00:50:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/59582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Medie/pseuds/Medie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Leonard McCoy's father is getting married. Too bad his stepmother's kids are crazy. And hot. That last part could be a problem.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Night On Risa

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much to the last minute readthroughs. However, the names of the betas have been withheld to protect the innocent. Any and all remaining errors are largely because I just can't stop picking (I know, I know, it'll never heal, but what can you do?)

She's a stocky, golden-haired goddess with a laugh that lights up a room and legs that go on for light years. In the faint light of the early Risan sun, Leonard McCoy knows he's in trouble when she walks up to the bar and orders a Terran whiskey, neat, that she downs without so much as flinching. She turns her head, blue eyes sizing up the room with a single glance, her hips rocking to the slow beat of the music and drawing a dozen pairs of eyes to their slow, wicked grind.

His golden goddess orders another drink, one she savors this time, and turns to watch the club, her gaze taking a slower circuit of the club. Second pass, cataloging, assessing, and fuck, she's Starfleet. Leonard doesn't need to see her in uniform to recognize that posture. She's definitely Starfleet, definitely Command material, and definitely doesn't give a fuck about either.

He's sure of that when she turns her head, fixes those sharp eyes on him, and Leonard feels the full force of that assessing gaze come to bear on him. She's probably already got him down to his skivvies and fuck if the thought doesn't get him as hard as fucking nails.

She tips her head, smiles slow, and finishes the rest of her drink. "Buy me another one."

Leonard's nodding almost immediately, worse he's only halfway aggravated by it. The other half of him is too busy being smug as hell over the frustrated looks flying his way from around the room. He's not the only one who's been watching his goddess and not a one of them is enjoying their loss. "Happy to," he says, the few drinks he's already had drawing out his accent, deepening it, thickening his words.

She closes the distance between them, short red skirt riding up on her hips as she slides onto a bar stool. Neither one of them pretends that it's any kind of an accident, and Leonard looks his fill. At least until she speaks and he's too busy falling over every word. "Oooh, a Southern gentleman," she says, voice lowering as well. The music isn't any obstacle to their conversation, not with the way she leans into him. Her breasts push against his forearm where it rests on the bar and, uncharacteristically, he doesn't move.

He knows he should, propriety's a universal constant, or so Mama McCoy had always said, and the proper thing to do would be to move. Put some distance between their bodies and give the lady her space. Except, he thinks, this one would be offended if he called her a lady and, besides, she's this close because she wants to be as she's definitely stone cold sober. Or still in the neighborhood of sober. Close enough to it she could still put him on his ass without much effort. He knows the type. She's probably got a half-dozen anti-tox pills tucked away somewhere in that sweet little red dress and, if she needs, a phaser and communicator too.

Starfleet knows how to send its officers out prepared. This one could probably invade Qo'nos, take the Chancellor hostage, all without breaking one of those dainty shoes. Hell, she probably wouldn't even break a damn sweat.

Her eyes fall to his arm where it presses against her chest, her grin turning wolfish, wicked, and she moves closer still. "But not _too_ gentlemanly, I approve."

"Thought you might," he says as the bartender puts her drink between them. Neither one of them pays attention. "On leave?" He draws his hand back slowly, letting it fall to her bare leg. It lands just above her knee and her eyelashes flutter briefly.

"Something like that," she says. "You?"

"Same deal." He's tempted to tell her the truth, except he's not sure he believes it's true himself. His goddamn father eloped to Risa, is in the process of eloping at any rate, with a Starfleet legend. Dad never did do anything halfway.

Winona Kirk's husband had died in the Kelvin attack, while she was giving _birth_ no less, and, yet, she had still managed to assume command of the survivors and get the whole works of them to safety.

The McCoys always did like their women ballsy.

Winona Kirk, in Leonard's opinion, sure as fuck qualifies for that title. He's never met a woman he's respected more. She's smart, funny, beautiful as all get out, and he genuinely likes the lady. He's just not sure about the whole thing.

It's not like his opinon _matters_, really, he's a big boy. Long since moved out on his own, married and divorced himself, but Leonard's the type to worry. His father's been alone for years, too long really, and he likes the idea of Dad having someone in his life, but _still_.

He's just not sure about the part where the future Mrs. McCoy is still on active duty, involved in the Constellation project and, oh yeah, they've only been dating a few months.

Leonard's over-thinking it. He always does. Did the same fucking thing with his marriage and that'd gone to shit in short order. Maybe spontaneous was the way to do it, he wasn't any kind of expert, so how the fuck was he supposed to know?

"Hey, you in there?"

He snaps back, realizing his goddess has been speaking and he hasn't heard a word. She tsks, shaking her head, and strokes a finger down his chest. There's a layer of fabric between her nail and his skin, but Leonard feels it the whole way down and when it comes to a stop just above his belt, there's not much of him that isn't screaming for more. "You look like you could use a good vacation." That hand, slowly, reluctantly, leaves his waist and brushes over his forehead. "Had a rough time of it, haven't you, Bones? And not in the good way."

"Bones?" he echoes, hating the way his voice shakes. It's been a long time since a woman touched him like this. Slid fingers over his body, mapped out his skin, all with a look that said her mouth would very much like to take the same trip.

"Mmhmm," his goddess nods. "I think that's all you've got left." She curls her lush lips into a grin . "Let me guess, that's why you got into Starfleet. All you had was yourself, your bones, and a bottle of cheap whiskey, so what the hell, might as well give it a shot, right?"

"Bourbon," he says, halfway shocked by her on-the-nose assessment. "Good eye."

"I taught at the Academy in my final year," she says and _that_ gets his attention. Teaching classes as a cadet? Fuck, she must've made the grading curve hell on the others. "You can always spot 'em." She pulls her hand away, reaches for her drink, and swallows it in a single gulp. "They make the best officers," she says when she finishes. "Nothing to knock down, but plenty of room to rebuild."

She gets up, takes his drink out of his hand, and dumps it on the bar. "C'mon, Bones."

"Where're we going?" he asks, letting her lead him out onto, and across, the dance floor. Bodies press close, grinding against them the way her hips had humped the air earlier, and Leonard's tempted to just join in.There's a near-constant promise of oblivion on this planet. He likes it. Should be worried by how much he likes it, but he's not.

That's the thing about Risa. It gets under your skin and pulls you into all sorts of secrets and sin. Vegas was never this good.

"Somewhere quiet," she says. "Somewhere I can scream when you go down on me."

Leonard's not sure who enjoys that suggestion more. Him or his cock. Either way they both heartily approve. Particularly when she finds an unlocked door, pushes it open, and then yanks him through it. It's barely slammed shut behind them before she's slamming him up against it, manhandling him into a kiss that's a little hard, a little sharp, and a whole hell of a lot dirty.

He hasn't had a kiss like this in years. One that feels like she's trying to crawl inside of him, and idea he's completely fine with. Her hands are tight on his hips, thumbs rubbing the skin bared by his shirt's riding up, her body rubbing against his. He rubs back, hands landing on her back, sliding up and down, finally resting on her lower back where they can pull her against him, hard, and hold her close.

She mutters into the kiss. It's mostly nonsense, half-finished orders, but he doesn't care. It's the way she does it. Like he's already hers. Like she's known him for years and knows that he'll do what she goddamn well tells him to do because it's an _order_ and he's going to fucking follow it.

Which, of course, he will. He lets her break off the kiss (yeah, not like he has a choice) and shove him to his knees. She's not wearing underwear, she's wet, and oh sweet lord she is _amazing_. He goes to work without any hesitation, licking at her like it's his goddamn job and she grabs his hair, holds him close, and rides him like it's hers.

Now the instructions dissolve into a throaty moan that goes right through him. Somewhere along the line, maybe when his tongue's wiggling just inside her, or when he's nosing at her clit, his finger stroking in and out, he unzips with his other hand. He palms his cock for a moment, squeezes to hold himself back, then jerks slow and steady.

She is so fucking _hot_. If he'd thought her a goddess before, he's sure now. When he looks up, the action pulling his hair painfully tight, she's staring down at him. Her eyes are on him, almost imperious as she watches, and that shouldn't be as hot as it is.

He imagines himself in this woman's crew, under her command, and groans against her. She hums happily with the vibrations. He slides another finger inside, thrusts up with them, and she bites her lip. Hard. Her hips jerk, stuttering in their rhythm, and her hand pulls once.

Up.

Leonard doesn't refuse her. He rises, sliding into her, one of those fucking amazing legs wrapping tight around him.

"Fuck, _yes_," she groans, hitching closer. "Fuck, Bones. You're -- " she hums again, happy and pleased, fucking herself on him with an athletic grace that wipes out whatever control he has left. He wraps his arms around her, tight, and presses his face against her neck.

They tangle together, hips moving wildly, slamming against the door with a rhythmic force that, he's sure, can be heard all over the goddamn club.

A few hours ago, hell a few minutes ago, he might've cared about that. Would have cared about that. He doesn't know, not with her writhing on him, his new name falling from her lips in a moan that's just this side of begging. Except, of course, this isn't a woman that begs. She demands, takes, and rewards with the ease of a queen, secure in her place in the universe, and he's halfway in love with her and he doesn't even know her name.

Fuck, he loves Risa.

-

When she's done, when he's still shaking from his own orgasm, she lets him go. Puts her skirt to rights, kisses him, and walks out all before he can even catch his goddamn breath.

"See you around the galaxy, Bones," she calls over her shoulder as she leaves.

He thinks about running after her, but his pants are around his ankles, and a brain injury's probably not the best way to, well, he doesn't know what they'd start. He just knows that he wants to try.

She's gone when he finally gets back to the dance floor. He thinks about asking, but decides against it. Heading back to the hotel where the wedding's being held, he stays awake long enough to shower and then he falls into bed.

He's not sure about the wedding, but yeah, he really fucking loves this planet.

-

"You look happy, son," his father says when he comes down to breakfast. "You slept well I take it?" David McCoy's smile is as wide as his son's. Leonard tries not to think about as to why that might be. Instead, he gets himself a cup of whatever the locals call coffee and sits down at the table. Winona's nowhere to be seen, but her son Sam and his wife are at a table by the patio, sitting close together with the look of the newly-married.

If he didn't know they had two kids and another one on the way, Leonard might almost believe it.

"Well enough," he says. "Where's Winona?" He doesn't care if she is a commodore. He's not going to call his stepmother by her rank at the breakfast table. Not that it matters. The way Winona works, he even tries to stand on ceremony, he'll be old and grey before she lets him hear the end of it. The woman's relentless.

"Upstairs," David's smile widens. "We got a bit of a surprise last night. Remember how we thought her daughter wouldn't make the wedding?"

"Jamie," Leonard nods. "Something about her ship out on the border. Klingons've been getting a little touchy." Understatement of the century. They're fucking spoiling for a fight and Leonard's pretty sure the Federation President's getting to the point of giving them one. "Ship couldn't spare her for that long."

"Well, turns out they can," his father says. "She turned up last night. Was pretty wiped by the time she got back here, but Win thought she might be able to join us for br—well, now, there they are." He stands, as a gentleman should, and Leonard's right behind him.

He turns around and damn near falls flat on his face. His legs cross, feet suddenly refusing to work right, and this is going to be so damn embarrassing. Except his goddess's hand closes around his arm, holding him up with not much in the way of effort, and she's smiling at him in pleased surprise.

Good. At least she didn't know about this either.

"Fuck me," he breathes, sotto voce, astonishment weighing the simple statement down.

His godd--_Jamie_ laughs with mischief and murmurs, "Already did, Bones. Best night of my life."

Leonard would be flattered, but, well, he's about a second or two from passing out. Only thing that keeps him from tipping over and into absolute humiliation is the presence of their parents.

Their _parents._

"Oh, I am so going to hell," he whispers, pulling himself up and, subtly, shaking off her hand.

Jamie just laughs. It's the same throaty sound that'd commanded the attention of a few dozen aliens, Leonard among them, and it does the same thing again.

Dimly, he hears Sam Kirk's exclamation of shock, but mostly Leonard's just staring at his soon-to-be stepsister.

The woman he'd fucked the night before.

-

"It's practically in--"

Jamie's hand lands on his mouth. Her eyes are warm, amused, and she is definitely laughing at him. "It is not just like incest," she says, mirthful. "You are not my brother, Bones. We'd never met before last night." She laughs. "And what an introduction it was."

"I'm so glad you're enjoying this," he spits out. "For God's sake, Jamie, this is insane."

They're in her hotel room, the bright light of the afternoon, lighting her hair a brilliant gold. She smiles at him and sits on the edge of her bed. Another dress is spread out behind her. Not the short red of the night before, and he's trying not to be disappointed by that, but another one. Longer, paler, elegant and very much the dress a dutiful daughter wears to her mother's wedding.

"Of course it is," Jamie agrees, quite reasonable. "I met, fucked, and got introduced to a man who just happens to be the son of my mother's fiancé. It's totally and completely fucked up, but in case you missed the subspace feeds? That's pretty much the story of my life."

It hits him then that she's _that_ child. The baby born into the middle of the Kelvin attack is her. She's the little girl that the entire Federation fussed over. Golden curls, big blue eyes, and a smile that could melt a Vulcan's heart.

And he fucked her.

Leonard drops into a chair with a muttered oath. Of course she is. It can't possibly get any worse. It can't.

"Bones, if you're about to trot out some gentlemanly bullshit, I should probably warn you. I have a low tolerance for it." Jamie goes to her knees in front of him, a little grin playing about her lips. "Ordinarily, I'd be inclined to start a bar fight over the whole thing, but I like you, so we'll forgo the physical violence." She shrugs, adding, "Besides, Mom would kill me if I started our blended little family by punching my stepbrother out."

"Don't call me that," he snaps, feeling himself getting hard. He can't help it. Not when Jamie's right there, her grin that familiar wicked smirk, looking up at him with eyes full of faux innocence. The woman is a menace. An absolute, goddamn menace with empathic abilities. Has to. How else could she be reading him so easily? He's stronger than this. He _is_.

"Why not, Bones?" she says, letting the word roll leisurely off her tongue. She moves closer, hand sliding up his thighs, and he tries to squirm backwards, but there's nowhere left to go. "You know it _is_ practically a tradition that the best man and the matron of honor hook up. If we hadn't done it last night, we'd be honor bound to now."

"Matron?"

He regrets the comment and all it's sarcasm the second Jamie's hand presses down on his cock. "Matron," she affirms over his emphatic squeak. "Trust me, Bones, I stopped being a 'maid' a long time ago." She draws his zipper down, slipping her hand into his pants in search of her goal. "Too much fun to leave alone."

When she finds it, she starts to work and his head rolls back, the fabric of the chair scratching his neck. Holy fuck, the woman is a goddess all right. It's a goddamn hand job, it shouldn't be this good.

She slips her mouth into the game and he practically flies out of the chair.

"You're not my brother, Bones," Jamie says, her lips teasing down over his tip, tone maddening and conversational. She stays there for a moment, letting those words hang in the air as she bobs up and down on him with an enthusiasm that's hotter than hellfire. "We're not even friends yet."

God, he wants to fuck her again. He wants to throw her down onto the carpet, get her out of those pants, and fuck her until neither one of them knows their own name.

Except she's Winona's daughter. His stepmother's daughter. It's just _wrong_ and, try as he might, Leonard's not shaking it.

He grabs for her shoulders with the intent of pulling her off, but it's a pitiful attempt at best. Jamie does something with her lips that's probably illegal on a half-dozen different planets and only barely legal on a dozen or two more and Leonard fucking _whimpers_ her name.

She laughs around him in pure delight and that, as much as anything else, is what pushes him over the edge. When she's done, when he's spent in her mouth, she pulls off him with a little smack of glee and grins. "Say that again," she says. Her lips are wet, shining, and he is so going to burn for all eternity because he does. Her name becomes an invitation, growled from his mouth as he reaches out for her.

Her clothing's hastily tossed aside and then she's on him. They go to the floor together, Jamie pressed tight between him and the carpet, Leonard thrusting into her like his goddamn life depends on it. Who knows, maybe it does, either way she comes with a cry so loud they probably heard her on Jupiter Station and he's not a whole hell of a lot quieter.

He ends up sprawled on the floor beside her, staring at the ceiling and its elegantly painted patterns. "This is wrong," he says.

"Mm, probably," Jamie agrees. "That's the best part." She shifts her legs together, rubbing leisurely, and he stares. Those legs that had held him tight, pressing him in close, pretty much doing everything and anything it took to urge him into fucking her harder. She rolls toward him, sliding one across him, rubbing against him like a cat in heat. "Let's do it again."

-

They have a reception. One of those pre-wedding deals that everyone hates, but goes to because the booze is free and you don't dare not show. Particularly since the word is out and half the fucking Fleet is on the way. That's the thing about Starfleet Even when you elope to Risa, all the brass can still find you and crash the goddamn party.

Leonard left his dress uniform on Earth, in the little hole in the wall apartment that is his Starfleet-issued officers' quarters, and he's never been happier about it. Surrounded by a sea of admirals, commodores, and captains, he clutches a glass of bourbon close and does his damndest to melt into the scenery. Without a hint as to his occupation or rank, the movers and shakers ignore him in favor of bigger game. He thinks he spots the President's Chief of Staff making nice with the Commander-in-Chief and that's definitely the Andorian ambassador debating something or other with Captain (rumored soon to be Commodore) Matt Decker.

It's rarefied company and he's glad to be out of it. Jamie, however, seems completely at ease. Her uniform's nowhere to be seen, but she's far from blending in. Tonight, she's wearing a brilliant blue shirt that leaves her arms bare and clings to every curve. Having the eye of everyone in the room seems to be a situation Jamie's comfortable with. She's not only aware of the attention, she's coming alive in the midst of it, and he's just another one of the admirers.

That changes with a quick glance his way. She's laughing at something Admiral Komack is saying, but her gaze stays on him long enough to wink slyly.

He scowls back, then turns his back. Leonard knows he's being damned juvenile about this, but he doesn't care. Whether she's interested in the morality of it or not, the whole thing feels wrong to him and he's not about to let Jamie Kirk and her smile fuck with him again. She's less than a day away from being _family_ and, whether it's the 23rd goddamn century or not, with him some things just aren't done.

Which includes gorgeous new stepsisters who moonlight as mysterious goddesses in alien bars.

Jamie appears at his side, leaning against the bar, waving the bartender down. "You don't look like you're having fun, Bones," she says, playful as ever. "Something wrong?"

Leonard finishes his drink, thumping it down on the bar. "You know what the hell is wrong, you've been behind it the whole goddamn night."

She bumps her hip against his, nothing suggestive about it, just a playful little hit, and his cock still takes notice, stirring with interest. Precisely what she's had in mind. Lord knows she's been doing it the whole night. A too-long glance, smirk, wink, laugh, whatever pops into her diabolical mind in his general vicinity.

It's a goddamn wonder she hasn't tried propositioning him in the broom closet. Nevermind that the hotel probably doesn't _have_ a broom closet. It's the principle of the thing.

"Behind what?" Jamie asks, all innocence. "Honestly, Doctor McCoy, are you always this grouchy?" She looks at him from beneath long lashes, glancing up, and, fuck, he can't help remembering the way she'd looked at him when she'd sucked him off. Big blue eyes all eager and promising. He closes his eyes, sets his jaw, and starts running through the procedure for regenerating damaged nerves in – _fuck_.

He closes a hand around hers, pulling it away from his thigh. "Bad girl."

She grins back. "Always."

"Goddamn it, Jamie," he mutters. "We are not doing this here."

"Oh god no," she says laughing. "I'm not into exhibitionism." She pauses, looking thoughtful, "Well, there was that one time on -- "

"Please," he cuts in, pained. She dimples, somehow managing to make even that look dirty, and he has a sudden flash of every single family dinner from here on out. At least the ones they make it to. Visions of her cornering him in every single corner of the Kirk house (or home, whichever one Winona and his father planned on living in) and lord, that was going to be awkward with Joanna running about. "Jamie."

Her grin widens then and he groans. "Woman, do you mind not messing with my head?"

"Oh, I'd mind," she says, mirthful. "You're so _serious_, Bones. Honestly, you need to loosen up. Did you not listen when I explained the whole 'not actually siblings' thing? I love Sam. As brothers go, he isn't a complete disaster at being one." Her words are light, teasing, but when she looks in her brother's direction, Leonard sees the devotion. "But -- " she turns back to him, her smile gentle, "as occasionally traumatic and fucked up as our childhoods were, I can honestly say I've never even thought about sleeping with him and, just so you know, I may never forgive you for putting that image in my head. There's not enough alcohol on this planet to do even a half-assed job of erasing it."

Leonard does manage a laugh at that one. "Sorry. Think I've got some bourbon left in my room. I'll drop it by later."

She flutters her eyelashes at him. "Can't we go get it _now_?"

It's so over the top that he can't help laughing again. "Do you ever actually stop that?"

"Not if I can help it, no," Jamie shrugs. "I like sex, Bones. I've never made any apologies about that. I also go after what I want. I don't make any apologies for that either. You happen to be what I want, Leonard McCoy. If you don't share that feeling, then fine, I'm okay with that." Her smile crooked, she adds, "I won't pretend I'll be happy about it, but I can accept it. I might have a healthy ego, but I'm not delusional enough to think I should be irresistible."

She lays a hand on his. The touch is light, but he feels it all the way down to his toes. "At the moment, though, I wish I was."

Picking up her drink, Jamie disappears into the crowd.

Only to be replaced by her brother.

Leonard orders another drink. He has a feeling he's going to need it.

-

Sam Kirk is as stocky as his sister with the same sharp blue eyes and his own version of the devil-may-care grin. He leans on the bar in almost the exact same spot, but the gaze he turns on Leonard's got a different sort of interest in them altogether.

"So," Sam says, deadly serious, "How long have you been sleeping with my sister?"

Leonard stares into his drink. He's seen a thousand like it, maybe more, but there's something altogether riveting about this one. Probably, he guesses, it's the faint attempt at an escape from a question that is, in all likelihood, going to see him laid flat out on the floor with a bloody nose.

He mulls over a few potential answers, rejects them, and starts contemplating potential escape routes. In his opinion, he can probably make it to the door, but as for getting off-world, now that one's not so likely.

"Well, now, that's a question," he finally says.

"Ahhh," Sam nods, still stony-faced. "You're the guy from the other night. The reason she came home whistling." He orders a drink from the bartender, the moment of silence stretching out between them as Leonard frantically tries to figure a way out.

He settles on straight up. If he's going to get punched, he might as well get hit for the right reasons. "Look, I didn't know she was Winona's daughter until, well," he shrugs, "when she walked into the restaurant yesterday morning. Believe me, if I'd had any idea who she was -- "

"My sister wouldn't be walking around singing off-key and laughing at your father's bad jokes?"

Leonard's still talking and it takes a second for Sam's comment to sink into his brain. When it does, he looks at him with astonishment. "I – what?"

"Jamie. She's got a hell of a game face, but I know when she's faking and when she's not. She hasn't been faking since she got here, and believe me, neither of us was all that thrilled when Mom told us about the wedding. Jamie more than me, I think, and now she's walking around like she's on cloud nine? I like your Dad, but I don't think he's what won her over."

Abandoning his drink, Leonard turns to face Sam dead on. "Is this your roundabout way of saying you approve?"

"Of my sister being happy? Fuck yeah," Sam laughs. "Jamie's a handful and a half, Leonard. Trust me."

"Yeah, well, I'm not much of a catch either," Leonard grumbles. "Between the ex, the kid, and the phobias, ain't much here to be writing home about." His gaze strays to find Jamie again. She's hard to spot in the ever-increasingly crowded room, but he finds her. She's with his father and her mother, listening to the two of the, a smile on her face. "She's -- "

"Seriously fucked up," Sam says.

Leonard's beginning to see the Kirk family's not one for suffering fools or beating around proverbial bushes. "You two don't mess around, do you?"

"Our mother's an engineer, not a counselor," Sam grins. "We were never much for social niceties. I guess that'll be your Dad's department from here on out." He turns around, hitching his elbows on the bar. "Jamie's my little sister and I love her. If you break her heart, I'll break your neck and I'll enjoy it, but there are days saying she's ten pounds of crazy in a five pound sack is being _nice_. The short version is she's arrogant, driven, brilliant, compassionate, devoted to her family, and there's nothing she won't do for the people under her command. There's nothing more in the universe she loves than her son, but space comes close."

Leonard breathes deep. "You realize," he says, "I have no earthly clue what to say to that, right?"

"Nothing you can say to it," Sam shrugs. "Just go with it. Around Jamie, I've noticed, that tends to work the best. That and hang on. It's a hell of a ride."

"You're talking like it's a foregone conclusion," Leonard says. "I still can't – " he waves his hands, sloshing bourbon around his glass. "We're -- "

"Our father died a long time ago," Sam says, deadly serious, "but we still had one and his name wasn't McCoy. She's not your sister, Leonard, and, if you ask me, I'd say you pretending she is is disingenous. If you're afraid of jumping into another relationship after your last one, fine, but don't hide behind a bullshit excuse. She deserves better than that."

He grins, quick, surprising Leonard almost as much as the slap to the back does. "By the way, we never had this conversation."

"No?"

"Uh uh. Jamie finds out we did and you'll get a first row seat to a Kirk family fight." Sam's smirk is reminiscent of his sister's. "We scare Klingons."

That one Leonard doesn't doubt for a second. They already scare the fuck out of him.

-

He stomps his way into Jamie's room that night, promised bottle of bourbon in hand, and a scowl on his face. "If one more goddamn person gives me their blessing, I'm gonna fucking punch someone." He stops short at the sight before him.

Jamie Kirk, in an Academy t-shirt and not much else, peering at him over a pair of wire-rimmed glasses, an old-fashioned book held loosely in her hands.

"Oh, fuck, woman, that's not fair," he complains.

"You know, Bones, I have a name," Jamie says mildly. "You remembered it pretty well this afternoon."

He snorts. "Coming from you, that one's funny."

She wrinkles her nose at him. "No, it isn't." She sits up, long legs teasing him as she moves. "So I'm guessing the family approves of the idea of us?" He snorts again and she makes a little face that, he imagines, is her attempt at feigned sympathy. It mostly looks like what it is. She's mocking the hell out of him. "Poor Bones, I don't know how you stand it all being you."

"Knock it off," he says. "Where're the damn glasses?"

"Wow, aren't we just a bundle of sunshine tonight?" Jamie says. She abandons her book, getting off the bed. "Fine, they're here." She shoots a look at him over the rims of her glasses. "Just like your room."

He scowls and fills up a glass. "You don't get it, do you? I swear, everybody from your mother to the goddamn bus---whatever the hell he was had an opinion. Apparently we're just meant to be."

"Well, I'm not arguing with that," Jamie says. She takes the drink from him and grins. "I'm enjoying the idea actually. I've been poking around, Bones, you've got one hell of a reputation."

Leonard doesn't say much to that. He has about as much time for reputations as he does for the rest of Starfleet's political bullshit. "Get the job done," he says, pouring up his own glass. "Don't much care for the rest of it."

"Gee," Jamie drawls, "I hadn't noticed that." She runs a hand up his back, surprisingly soothing, and Leonard's eyes slide shut. "You really do need to relax, Bones. Doctors aren't supposed to be this neurotic." She crowds closer and, for once, he's content to let her. Hell, he's content to let her the rest of the time too, it's just that – he groans. He really is too damn neurotic. "When was the last time you actually relaxed?"

"Was trying to do that the other night," he says in a mutter. "Then this gorgeous blonde showed up and turned the place on its ear."

Jamie chuckles. "So I ruined your night, huh?" More like made his year, but hell if Leonard's going to say anything about it. "I'm sorry," she says. "Next time I promise I'll pick someone else."

"Hell you will." The words are out before Leonard realizes it. She goes quiet, her hand stopping halfway down his back, and he can practically feel her eyes watching him.

"Bones, you realize you won't get to have it both ways, right?" she asks. Her voice, unexpectedly, is more than a little serious. "I'm not going to sign myself up to the nearest nunnery anytime soon and that means -- "

This time, when Leonard pictures those family dinners, he pictures Jamie sneaking off with someone else. Sees himself accidentally stumbling on them and watching some other man with her. Some other man's mouth on hers, some other man's hands sliding over her skin, some other man making her cry out.

The echoes of her voice crying his name ring in his ears and Leonard feels, as much as hears, the glass in his hand crack.

Jamie says nothing to that. Just takes the glass out of his hand before it breaks entirely. He watches, mute, as she puts it down and then licks the bourbon from her skin.

"This is beyond insane," he says, quiet.

She looks at him, lips closed around the tip of her forefinger, and if that's not deliberate, he'll eat every goddamn hat on the planet. She stays that way for a moment and he can almost see her trying out responses. Whether any of them work or not, he doesn't know.

Her fingers, still wet with bourbon, reach for him. They slide up his shoulder, around his neck, and bury themselves in his hair. If they happen to be shaking, Leonard's not of a mind to say, not when she's stepping closer to him and this shouldn't be happening. Stepsister or not, he's known her for days, not years, but when she moves, his arms come up like they've been doing this for years.

Like he's known her a lifetime, he just can't remember when or how.

Jamie sighs, pressing her cheek against his shoulder, and he hides his face against hers. "Of course it is," she says. "Life has to be crazy, Bones, it has to be out there on the edge or it's not life at all. It's sitting around waiting to die."

He thinks, maybe, that's what he's been doing for a while now. Since the day Jocelyn walked out and took Joanna with her. God knows, he hasn't felt anything like this in that long. Hasn't wanted to. Truth be told, he's been scared shitless of letting himself.

He might not 'know her' yet, but Leonard knows that Jamie Kirk's the embodiment of everything that scares the hell out of him. There's no halfway here. No standing on the sidelines. All in or all out.

"Come on, Bones, live a little."

It's almost plaintive and this isn't her. Jamie doesn't wear hesitation well. It's a few sizes too small, constricting, holding her in, and he hates it. Wonders if, maybe, that's what she sees when she looks at him.

He huffs a breath, frustrated, and then nips at her shoulder. "You're going to be the goddamn death of me, aren't you?" he says.

Jamie pulls back, smiling brilliantly. "Well, maybe, but I'll fix it, I promise."

Hell of it is, he believes her.


End file.
